Until I Come Home
by lady leonid
Summary: Don has a dream about his missing brother and comes to terms with moving on. Charlie,lost in a far away place dreams of home and his brother wishing only for Don to be happy.


Disclaimer: I own no part of Numb3rs. This is just for fun

Rated T for violence and language

Just a short, sad little side story set in the near future when, Don has a visit from his lost brother and comes to terms with his need to move on.

**Until I Come Home**

He was a delicate, almost gossamer figure sitting cross-legged in the grass by the koi pond, silently staring into the water. His folded hands rested in his lap and his head was bowed. His dark eyes were locked on the little creatures he loved so much as they swam in rapid circles leaving faint patterns in their wake. He was as still as death and as quiet as night. He didn't even seem to be breathing.

As Don Eppes approached his younger brother, he felt an odd sense of foreboding. Something wasn't right. The garden seemed to be bathed in a soft pinkish light making it appear more an impressionist painting than a real place. Tiny white flowers sparkled like jewels as they fell from the sky and, even though the air was absolutely still, they swirled in slow motion around his brother's motionless form. Charlie seemed oblivious of his surroundings, and completely unaware of his older brother's presence. He reached down as if to touch the surface of the water, but changed his mind, paused and returned his hand to his lap. Don stopped a few feet away watching this man in whose name he had suffered so much pain, he had wept for, grieved for, bled for; his brother, this total stranger.

For a few seconds Charlie remained silent, and then, his eyes never leaving the koi pond, he spoke. "Don, do you remember that trip we took to Washington?" His soft, husky voice echoed in the warm afternoon. "I think that was one of the last really good times we shared. Later, it all sort of went to hell."

"Charlie, why are you here again?" Don Eppes looked at his brother through exhausted, burning eyes.

"Because you called me, big brother," he said a smile touching his lips. "You called me and I came."

"No, I didn't." Don said shaking his head slowly. "I didn't call you Charlie."

The mathematician sighed. "I think you know that's not true."

The FBI agent licked his lips and moved a step closer.

"Do you have any idea of the damage you've done? Do you care?" Don clinched his fists so tightly his nails sliced into his palms drawing little crescents of blood.

Charlie still didn't take his eyes off the water and the fish. He didn't even blink.

"How could you have done this to us Charlie, to Dad, to me, to everyone who went through so much to help you? How could you turn your back on us like this?" Don demanded. He stood over his younger brother shaking with anger.

"Sometimes things happen, Don. We don't intend for them to, we don't plan it, it just—happens." He glanced up at his older brother. "When I bought this house from Dad I thought I would live out my days here. I thought I would get married and raise my children in this house. I was wrong."

Don kneeled beside Charlie. "It just happened, Charlie. Is that your excuse? I thought things were getting better between us. We seemed to be getting so close, especially after Washington, but then you became distant and evasive. You began lying about to all of us about even the smallest things. You put up walls that…"

"Don, are you happy?" Charlie interrupted looking at his brother.

"Am I what?"

"Happy, are you happy? It's a simple question, big brother." Charlie said softly.

Don sighed. "Yeah, I'm happy. Robin and I had our wedding here in the garden, just as we planned. Because you were‒gone, we thought about canceling it and just going to the justice of the peace, but I decided I had put my life on hold long enough. David was my best man and everyone came including Larry. Dad got a little drunk on champagne and made a hilarious speech and you know something Charlie, no one thought about you at all that day, not once."

Charlie blinked a couple of times and looked away. "Good. I'm glad you're happy, Don. I really am."

"The day you left, the day Dad came home from work and found that folder on the dining room table, he called me, Charlie; he called me crying. I rushed over because he was so frantic I was worried about him. I thought he was going to have a heart attack or a stroke. Did you think about him as you walked out the door? After all we went through when you were abducted, this is how you leave us, a folder of legal papers and a note saying you had been called away and would contact us as soon as you could, that you would be gone three months at the most." Don closed his eyes for a second.

His voice broke as he continued. "You never called, not once. You never wrote. You never even sent a damned e-mail. Dad would sit for hours at his computer sending out message after message. You never answered. Then one day, all his messages bounced and I knew you had cut us off completely. Three months became five then eight and now its been a year, a fucking year Charlie, and still no word!" Don wanted to bash his brother's face in, but he couldn't. "I stormed Harrington's office demanding answers. I stormed the NSA and all anyone can tell me is that officially, they have no information, that all I can do is wait for you to call. I tried to contact Donovan but apparently you and he fell down the same fucking rabbit hole." Don shook his head. "Charlie, do _you_ remember that on that damned trip to Washington I forbade you to do this? I told you to tell them, _no,_ if they ever wanted to send you away like this, that you are a teacher and that's what you should be doing? Do you remember that?"

"I wish you'd said goodbye." Charlie said sadly.

"What?" Don gasped.

"The night before I left, you picked Dad up at his book club and brought him home…"

"Yeah, because you were so self involved, you forgot him. He had just had eye surgery and you knew he couldn't drive at night. He tried to call you but you didn't answer. Robin and I had to leave a restaurant and pick him up. And it wasn't the first time; that was about the third time in a week and a half." Don shouted.

"You confronted me in the garage. You were so angry, Don. You told me off and I deserved it I guess. You told me to man up, turned your back on me and walked out. The last thing I said to you was, _Goodbye, Don_, but you only shook your head and never turned around. I wish you had said goodbye."

Don swallowed, feeling his eyes stinging with unshed tears. "Don't you have any answers for me, Charlie? Don't you have any answers at all?"

Charlie looked at the pond again and whispered so softly Don almost didn't hear him. "Ask Al about the night he saw the devil."

"Charlie, Al's been dead for six months. If you don't have any answers for me, then why are you here?" Don reached to grab his brother's arm but Charlie had moved away.

"I'm so lost, Don. I'm not sure I will ever have the answers you need. Besides, you know that I'm not really here, that this is all only a dream." He knelt beside his brother and very gently reached over and touched his face. "I really do wish you had said goodbye."

"Charlie," Don whispered, "I'm going to be a father in a few months and, God forgive me, but I have to let you go. If I call you again, don't come."

"Of course Don, anything you want." Charlie smiled taking Don's hand in his. "You'll be a wonderful father." Then a shadow seemed to fall over him. "Something's coming!" He whispered and looked away. "Don," He leaned and kissed his brother on the top of his head, "check on Dad." He stood and moved into the shadows consuming the garden and was gone.

Don Eppes woke with a start. He had once again fallen asleep in front of the television in the house he shared with his wife. His face was wet. He realized he had been crying again and he was angry with himself. He swore that he would shed no more tears for his missing brother. It was time to move on. He stood, running his hand through his hair. He walked to the sideboard and picked up the framed photograph of himself and Charlie their arms wrapped around each other's shoulders, the Golden Gate rising in the back ground. They had been so happy that day, so damned happy.

"I have to let you go, buddy," Don whispered. "I'm sorry, but I have to let you go." He had spent the last week divesting himself of anything that made him think of Charlie and this was the last thing that remained, the very last thing. He ran his fingers over the faces and, with more pain in his heart than he wanted to admit, he tossed the photograph in the trash.

He frowned. Suddenly he had an overwhelming need to speak with his father. He picked up the phone and dialed.

xxxx

Far away in a land so distant and dissimilar from Pasadena, California that it might as well be in another galaxy, Charlie Eppes woke from a troubled sleep. He ran his hand through his damp hair and sighed, covering his tired eyes with his arm. It was that in-between time just before dawn when the air is the coldest and the night so still you can hear rifle fire from miles away. He knew that despite how totally exhausted he was he would not be able to fall asleep again. He had to get up soon anyway, so the prospect of drifting off for a few more minutes really didn't appeal to him.

He sighed. He had long ago gotten used to sleeping on the ground in any number of weather conditions. He could even sleep in mud if he had to. He had gotten used to sleeping in his clothes so he would be ready to move quickly in case of attack. He was used to never being comfortable or safe or clean. He accepted bad food and even worse coffee as simply the way it had to be. It was no big deal anymore. He had forgotten what it was like to be well rested, and to be at peace. He had forgotten what love felt like or what it was to be cared for and cherished. His life in Pasadena seemed eons ago, as if that man had been a character in a movie and not real at all.

"Steve, I dreamed I was home talking to my brother, but I think I was a ghost and…" He raised himself up on one elbow and turned towards the man who had been his buddy and friend since all of this had begun. He turned to see the sleeping bag neatly rolled up in the corner of the partially bombed out hut he currently called home. Next to it was a blood splattered backpack, all respectfully set aside—and Charlie remembered. Steve was gone. He would never again annoy the hell out of him with that damned Bruce Springsteen song or his stupid, lame jokes. He lay down, staring at the dark ceiling, his mind too exhausted to think.

The responsibilities the Stanford mathematician and he had shared now fell solely on his shoulders and he prayed he was up to it. Maybe it wouldn't matter. Maybe soon his few belongings would be respectfully rolled up and placed in a corner. One thing seemed certain, Mike Donovan had been wrong. He would not be sent home in a box with his dog tags between his teeth. Just like Ed Sterling who had once lived in his home and who had died in France during the Great War, and just like Steve and the others, he would be buried in a distant land, never to see home again.

He wondered if, after his death, he would be able to return to his garden and walk the halls of his beloved vintage home, if only as a phantom and memory in his family's mind. The only comfort he had was the knowledge that he had led his enemy to the other side of the world, far from all he loved and held dear. They were safe even if it cost him his life, even if Don hated him forever for leaving. He had done what he had to do and he had no regrets. What bothered him most was that he had now become so accustomed to death, violence and sudden loss that it no longer shocked him, it no longer sickened him. He was becoming hard, he was freezing over. Mike had been right about that. And he had been right about another thing. It had all gone bad and it went bad fast. Now there was no way out.

He sat up, tossing the sleeping bag aside. He stood, zipped up his jacket and grabbed the M16A4 that was never supposed to be his. He silently thanked Mike for his brutal but thorough training. He was not supposed to carry a gun, but he had been cleared on every weapon they carried. He had been trained to kill if he had to. He checked it to make sure it was loaded and ready. He and Big Gus had patrol in another half an hour, another duty that was never supposed to be his. But their original designations no longer mattered; now they were only trying to survive. There were no longer enough of them left for anyone to have special privileges. At any rate his degrees meant nothing here. Charlie Eppes sighed and pulled a helmet over his head. His weapon checked out and another day was beginning. He crouched low and stepped out into the cold.

The End


End file.
